I turn, look back the way we’ve come to where the Noxaurian campfires burn. Between here and there the ground crawls, swarming with low, dark figures, like enormous black ants scurrying my way.
Hobgoblins.
Diira throws back her head. Her flame, which had burnt low, bursts into full force, enveloping me in power and protection. Nevertheless I draw my sword, determined not to be caught defenseless. Gripping it tight, I lean over my beast’s neck as she bursts into a long-legged gallop. No carefully collected power as she would muster for a charge, but sheer speed and propulsion. Wind whips in my face, stealing my breath, but my heart rises in a momentary burst of glory. No licorneir in all this world can match my darling for speed!
Another gap in the clouds lets a gleam of moonlight through. To my horror, I see those low, scuttling creatures cutting off the stretch of country in front of us. Diira hastily changes lead andturns, but there are more hobgoblins speeding toward us. Firelight flashes across faces of twisted monstrosity—wrinkled creatures with great tusks and large, slitted nostrils from which slime pours in green rivulets. More green slime drips from their sagging jowls, coating their hairless bodies in viscous matter so that they seem almost to glow. A foul stink of pure evil fills my nostrils, and it’s all I can do to keep from being sick.
Diira turns and bolts in another direction, seeking escape. One of the hobgoblins leaps for her, powerful muscles propelling it through the air. It lands on her hind quarters right behind me, and though it immediately bursts into flame from her heat, it doesn’t seem to care. Perhaps that slimy coating gives it some protection, at least from the initial burn. With a wild cry of terror, I slash at it with my sword, splitting its ugly face open. This, at least, surprises the creature; it did not expect me to defend myself. It falls back, but one long-fingered hand catches my skirts and nearly pulls me with it. I end up half-way out of the saddle before the skirt rips free, exposing my leg. Diira shifts her gait to make it easier for me to scramble back into the saddle, but in doing so, she loses valuable speed.
The hobgoblins swarm closer. They seem to form a wall in front of us. Diira gathers her strength and springs into the air, and I feel for a wild moment as though she’s sprouted wings and taken flight! She soars over those savage heads, lands gracefully on the ground on the far side of them, and puts on another burst of speed. By now the whole countryside crawls with hobgoblins, like a flood ready to sweep us away.
Diira!I sing desperately.
My licorneir puts down her head. Her sharp horn skewers a hobgoblin, and she flings it to one side. It crashes into others, sending them toppling, but they keep on coming. She strikes again and again with lancelike sharpness, and I hack at anything that moves with my sword. A hobgoblin gets through both our defenses, leaping onto Diira’s neck and ripping into it with those razor tusks. A great gash opens up, and silver blood flows.
Screaming with rage and terror, I stretch out, hacking and hacking at the beast, afraid I’ll hit Diira in my wildness, but too desperate to stop. The hobgoblin releases her, falls to the ground, but Diira stumbles. Blood pours from many wounds, and her soul-song falters in my mind.
Diira!I scream. Even in my head, our song, once so bright, so strong, is drowned by the cries of the hobgoblins closing in. But I hear her still, faintly in the back of my mind.
Vellara. I am . . . sorry . . .
She staggers, falls to her knees.
24
TAAR
Ilsevel.
Even as I hurtle a Noxaurian back far enough that I can get my blade into its gut, I feel the already-tautvelrasuddenly explode with energy and tension. Terror that does not belong to me jolts through every nerve of my body, almost exhilarating in its startling brilliance.
Ilsevel!
Where is she?
I shake the gutted Noxaurian off my sword, spattering virulium-tainted blood across the ground, and roar. “Halamar! Find Ilsevel!”
My warrior yanks his sword free of a rabid fae, casts me a short look, and nods. But when he turns for his horse, it’s not there, having bolted when he was pulled from the saddle. I curse, pivot lightly and crouch, then hack my blade deep into the thigh of anonrushing Noxaurian. “Elydark!” I bellow.
My licorneir tosses a still-screaming fae from his horn and, flaming bright, leaps to my side. I pull myself into the saddle, turn, and smash a rabid Noxaurian across the face. “Halamar!” I cry, turning to where my man continues to struggle. “Get out of here!”
I don’t wait to see whether or not he escapes. Though I hate to leave him, Halamar is a proven warrior and more than a match for the remaining virulium-crazed fae, as long as none of the other observing Noxaurians take it into their heads to down mouthfuls of the demon’s blood themselves and join the fun. But I cannot linger—thevelrayanks me painfully, excruciatingly, far beyond any strength or willpower of mine to resist.
I urge Elydark faster, faster, following the pull of that shining cord out from the encampment into the surrounding darkness. But it does not lead toward the Licornyn camp as I anticipated. Instead I find myself emerging into the open country between the encampment and Evisar City. My eyes widen in horror—for the landscape before me is alive and swarming with hobgoblins.
The sound of licorneir hooves draws my attention. I turn, frantic, and see Kildorath approaching on Miramenor, who burns in full, bright battleflame. “Kildorath!” I cry. “Have you seen her? Have you seen my wife?”
My warrior’s face is scored with harsh lines, his eyes too large and too bright in the glow of his licorneir’s soulfire. “I saw her,luinar,” he says and swings an arm, pointing out into the darkness.Not that I need him to—the pull of thevelrais clear enough. “She rode that way. I think she was trying to reach the human side—”
I don’t wait to hear the rest. My soul roars to Elydark, who responds with a burst of power, speeding out into the open country, trailing long tongues of red flame in his wake. We close in on the hindmost hobgoblins. My sword flashes, felling first one then another with vicious blows. Where is Diira’s flame? I should be able to see it out there in this pitch dark.
There—a flicker of soulfire. It must be them. Thevelrapulls me on, like a great hook in my heart seeking to drag it out of my chest.
But now the hobgoblins are aware of my presence. They shift and move around me, eager for new, exciting prey. They rip at Elydark’s flank and chest, and my licorneir is obliged to turn and fight, slashing out with horn and hooves. But this slows our pace—and that I cannot have. I must get through to Diira, to Ilsevel.
Too furious to think straight, I leap from the saddle, land hard, and sprint forward on my own two legs. Even as I hurl myself into frantic action, I realize that nothing more than pure madness drives me. I cannot hope to outrun hobgoblins. But perhaps, being smaller and not blazing like the sun, I might slip through their ranks more easily than Elydark can. Shadows loom to my right, to my left. I hew them down even as they come, but more and more are alerted to my presence. They surround me, hemming me in.
My hand is on the pouch at my belt almost before I realize it.
